


I Learn Quick when I Have To

by Taste_is_Sweet



Series: Soldiers of Fire and Shadows [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes-centric, Gen, Hydra are dicks, Perpetually, Reports of Illya Kuryakin's Death are Greatly Exaggerated, Revenge, Sick Bucky Barnes, So is Brock Rumlow, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-13 11:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11183736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet
Summary: A year and a half after Hydra falls and the Asset runs, Vanya comes back to find his brother.(Rumlow's vacuous shock slowly changes to a sly, smug grin that Vanya wants to beat off his face. "Huh. You're supposed to be dead."Vanya goes closer, fists clenched. "Where is Illya?"Rumlow leans his hip against the bench and crosses his arms. Maybe he thinks Vanya is still too empty from all the wipes to notice the slight wince as Rumlow's scars pull. He's stripped down to a tee-shirt, despite the chill October night outside, and his visible skin is shiny and tight where it's not rough and red. He must think he has some other advantage, because he won't be able to fight."Asset, report," he says, still grinning.)





	I Learn Quick when I Have To

**Author's Note:**

> ILLYA IS NOT DEAD. This story takes place between [We Leave our Homes in Flames](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6781225) and [Ashes for My History.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10605057)
> 
> The title comes from the song [Stay in the Light](https://youtu.be/UHZBfs-imPo) by Honeymoon Suite. Enjoy some retro, on me. :D
> 
> Big thanks to [Shazrolane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazrolane) for the very fast and helpful read through.

_They used to tell me_  
_Anything, just to sell me._  
_But I learn quick when I have to._  
\---Honeymoon Suite, [Stay in the Light](https://youtu.be/UHZBfs-imPo)

"Where is he?"

Brock Rumlow is hunched over a workbench under a dangling, wire-cased bulb which is the only light in the garage. He was muttering to himself, working on something that looks something like armor, but could be nothing at all. Vanya doesn't remember much about the fight on the helicarriers, but he knows what happened to Brock.

He was hoping he'd be dead, but since he's not, Rumlow at least will have information.

Rumlow may be covered in burn scars, but he's still fast. When he hears Vanya he whirls, snatching the heavy wrench off the workbench and throwing it at Vanya's face.

Vanya grabs it in his metal fist before it gets near him, then crushes it before he drops it to the cracked and pocked floor of the garage. His arm _whirrs_ unpleasantly deep inside, but it still works the way it's supposed to. He's been careful with it all day; He wanted to be very, very certain he could beat the information out of Rumlow before he came out here tonight.

He glances at the three corpses haphazardly slung into a corner. Their blood is soaking into the concrete, but there's more than enough of it to leak out onto the gravel parking lot and attract unwanted attention. It doesn't matter if it's obvious this was a place to disassemble stolen cars. These dead men may have been criminals, but they surely had other men they reported to, families who will expect them home. They will be missed.

That is surprisingly careless, even for Rumlow. Maybe he wants to die. If he's suicidal, Vanya will be more than happy to help him. As long as Rumlow tells him where Illya is first.

It takes a surprisingly long moment for Rumlow to recognize him, even with his arm and the broken wrench. But when he does, his vacuous shock slowly changes to a sly, smug grin that Vanya wants to beat off his face. "Huh. You're supposed to be dead."

Vanya goes closer, fists clenched. "Where is he?"

Rumlow leans his hip against the bench and crosses his arms. Maybe he thinks Vanya is still too empty from all the wipes to notice the slight wince as Rumlow's scars pull. He's stripped down to a tee-shirt, despite the chill October night outside, and his visible skin is shiny and tight where it's not rough and red. He must think he has some other advantage, because he won't be able to fight.

"Asset, report," he says, still grinning.

Vanya freezes. The urge to stand at attention and tell his handler everything he asks for— _everything_ , no matter how trivial or incriminating—is so strong that he groans through his clenched teeth, trying to fight it.

Rumlow watches him struggling, then slowly straightens from his lean, drops his hands and walks forward. Vanya can see the confidence shining sharp as blades in his eyes. "Are you defying your _handler_ , Asset?" he asks. He only stops walking when he's so close that Vanya can feel the damp puffs of Rumlow's breath on his face.

The smirk in his voice turns Vanya's chest acid with rage, but it's not enough to break the grip of his programming. He wants…. No, he doesn't _want_ this. He's never wanted this. He's _compelled._

He's compelled to report, to go meek and gentle and pliant for his handler. His jaw is aching from clenching it so he won't speak. His whole body is trembling, sweat beading along his scalp, pooling at the base of his spine. He feels sick with the conflicting needs to obey and to fight his way free.

Rumlow sees it, and his smug grin just gets wider before it disappears completely. His expression darkens, eyes like ice. Vanya knows that he's acting, but that does nothing to stop the fear that clenches like a fist around his heart, makes it hard to breathe. _He's made his handler unhappy._

"Asset," Rumlow says in a voice like flint and steel, "on your knees."

Vanya drops.

He puts his head down, clasps his forearms behind his back. His breath hitches and the trembling in his shoulders deepen as he starts to cry in humiliation, rage and despair. Tears course down his face, mixing with the sweat and running into his mouth. He made sure to eat; he slept. He's known his location and his name for three whole days with no slipping. He hasn't lost time. He hasn't forgotten his purpose, his identity or his past. He was sure he was ready to face his handler again.

He was sure he was ready. And now he's on his knees.

Vanya doesn't look up when he hears Rumlow move even closer, or when the man crouches so that their heads are level. Vanya notes the lack of fluidity in Rumlow's movements, the tiny grunt of pain. He could kill Rumlow so easily. But he can't move.

Rumlow puts his hand on the back of Vanya's neck, caressing just a little bit. It's to mock him, but it still makes Vanya's skin crawl. "Remember this, Asset," he whispers at the shell of Vanya's ear. "Remember you kneeling for me, my hand on your neck. I can do whatever the fuck I want to you." He slides his hand around to Vanya's face, runs the pad of his thumb across Vanya's bottom lip like a lover before gripping his throat. "Look at me, Asset, you traitorous piece of shit." He tightens his hand, forcing Vanya's head up with it. "Stick knew how weak you were. He told me he knew you were going to fuck us over because you cared so much about your protégé." He spits the word like an insult. "I'm only surprised it was Captain America who did it, not Illya. I was sure there'd be nothing left of Rogers in that pile of crap that passes for your brain after what we did to you. Look at you, crying like a little bitch." He tightens his hand on Vanya's throat. It hurts and it's hard to breathe, but Rumlow isn't really strangling him; this is just for demonstration. "I told you to report."

"Asset ready to report," he whispers.

"That's right. That's better." Rumlow strokes Vanya's throat with his thumb. "Now, where the fuck have you been for the past fuckin' eighteen months?"

"Eastern Europe," Vanya chokes out. "Primarily Belarus and Romania."

"Eastern Europe?" Rumlow chuckles. "You just can't stay away from there, can you?" He moves his hand a little, so that his thumb sweeps slowly across the bone of Vanya's jaw. "Why were you there, Asset? You had no mission. Standard protocol is to find the nearest Hydra safehouse and wait for your handlers. So why the hell did you fuck off to Eastern Europe?"

"Self-imposed mission."

Rumlow slaps him with his free hand, squeezes his throat tighter. "Stop being coy, Asset. I asked you a question so you'd better fucking tell me. What self-imposed mission? _Report._ "

Vanya screams behind his gritted teeth, trying to keep the words inside his head. Rumlow slaps him again. "Searching active and inactive Hydra facilities for Secondary Asset," Vanya says. He destroyed every single one of the facilities afterwards, but that wasn't part of his mission so he doesn't have to say it. He is silently, ferociously happy that Rumlow's too stupid to ask the right questions. 

Rumlow's eyes go wide. "Seriously?" He barks out an incredulous laugh. "Looking for Illya?" He sniggers with genuine amusement. "And I bet you were _so sad_ when you couldn't find him." He makes his eyes wide and innocent. "Oh, no! Was he hiding from you? Where could little brother _be?_ "

Vanya grits his teeth and says nothing.

"You wanna know where your Illya is, Asset? You want me to tell you where you can find your ickle baby brother?" His eyes have a bright, manic light in them. Rumlow always loved his power. "Beg me. Beg me and maybe I'll tell you."

"Please," Vanya chokes. "Please, tell me where he is." He can't tell what part is his handler commanding him and what part is his own desperation, but right now, with this, he doesn't care. Illya is worth any kind of subjugation, any kind of shame.

Rumlow grins again. Vanya thinks of wolves. "He's dead," he says, still smiling. "Your brother's dead. He was put into cryo the same time you were, remember? Or is that mush between your ears too fucked up for that?"

Vanya says nothing. But he remembers.

He remembers coming back after a mission to find his brother slumped and trembling in the Chair. He remembers how he tried to protect him from Pierce. And especially he remembers how Stick, who had never been kind or gentle but equally never cruel, had used Illya's trigger against him, and then used Illya against Vanya. He'd betrayed them both, and now….

Now Illya's dead? He's _dead?_ "How?" Vanya asks. He's not fighting the compulsion anymore. "Please…wh-what—?"

Rumlow squeezes harder. "Did I say you could speak, you fuck?"

"No, sir," Vanya gasps. He's light-headed. He wants to throw up; he wants to hurt Rumlow very, very badly. But he needs to know what happened, how his _bratik_ could be dead. It's not…. It doesn't make sense. He was their _best._ Better than Vanya, because Illya was a real person. He could go undercover for years without trouble, but Vanya would get sick—

No. He was never sick. His programming would break down within a few days if he wasn't wiped, or if he didn't have Illya with him. It's been happening ever since he saw Captain Rogers on the bridge. But Illya never had that problem. Why kill the better Soldier?

"What _happened,_ " Rumlow drawls, "is that when you failed your mission and S.H.I.E.L.D. crashed and burned and took Hydra with it, there was no one left to make sure nothing happened to Illya's cryo chamber. Like, say, running out of power, so he'd defrost inside and suffocate. Kind of like what's happening to you now." He tightens his hand to make sure Vanya knows what he means. "Only it'd be slower, and more claustrophobic." His grin grows sharper, a pack of wolves circling. "Can you imagine how that must've felt? Him dying like that? All alone and trapped in the dark?"

Yes, Vanya can imagine his brother dying in confusion and terror in the dark. He can imagine how Illya must have called and called for help, how he must have beat his fists bloody against the unyielding metal until his lungs gave out. He can imagine how Illya's last thoughts were to wonder why his brother never came to save him.

"Aww, you cryin' again?" Rumlow uses his free hand to smooth away Vanya's tears. The gesture might even be kind, except Rumlow's laughing. Illya died in hell, terrified and alone. And Vanya's fucking handler is _laughing_ ….

Vanya headbutts him in the face.

Rumlow's nose crumples with a noise like a cracking egg. He falls back howling, tries to scramble away. But he's slow because of his scars, and he can barely see because his eyes are streaming. And he knows Vanya's not under his control anymore, so he's afraid.

Good.

Vanya spends a few seconds gulping air with his hand to his throat, but he sees when Rumlow lurches to his feet, and clamps his left hand around his ankle. He jerks Rumlow's foot back, sending him crashing face down on the concrete. Then he squeezes until the bones crackle like newsprint and Rumlow howls again in pain.

He likes the sound of Rumlow howling.

Vanya lets go of the pulp of Rumlow's ankle to grab the back of his knee. He drags Rumlow close to him, then crushes his knee as well. Now Rumlow can't run anymore. Vanya flips him over. He's still on his knees because his handler didn't say he could stand, but that's fine. It means he's close enough to clamp his metal hand around Rumlow's balls. Rumlow's eyes practically roll with terror.

Vanya smiles.

"Where is my brother?" He tightens his grip, the way Rumlow tightened his hand on his throat. "Tell me, or I crush them too."

"Metro-General!" Rumlow screeches. The lower half of his face is covered in grimy blood.

Another little bit tighter. "Tell me what that is."

"It-it's a hospital. Metro-General Hospital. In Hell's Kitchen! He…he's in the b-basement. Back of the storage room. You'll find him there! I swear it!"

"Thank you." He tightens his grip, just because he can. Rumlow howls one more time, sobbing with fear and pain. "Now who's crying, you piece of shit?" he snarls, then grins like a wolf. "Beg me not to rip your balls off, you Nazi asshole. You're lucky I haven't slit your throat and left you for the crows. The only reason you're even still alive is 'cause I promised the Captain I wouldn't kill you just for nothing…."

He stops, frowning. The Captain?

He lets go, lurching to his feet, then staggering with the sudden vertigo. For a long, awful stretch of time he doesn't know where he is or why he's there. He has no idea who the bleeding man on the floor is, or the corpses. Did he kill them?

Who is he?

_Bucky?_

No. No. No. That name is…It's dangerous. He can't use it. He needs to make sure Illya doesn't use it either, or Uncle will punish them.

Illya's dead.

Illya's dead. His brother is _dead._ Dear God, what is Vanya supposed to do without him?

Illya is Vanya's reason to exist. He's _everything._ Protecting Illya, training him and looking after him, were the only good things Vanya has ever known. If Illya is dead, Vanya will have nothing.

(Steve? No. Not him. He's the mission. And he belongs to….

He does not belong to Vanya.)

Vanya will have nothing.

He turns and runs, leaving Rumlow bleeding on the floor.

* * *

He takes the motorcycle, ditches it in an alley next to the hospital. It's not like the owner's going to need it again.

It's very, very late. Vanya goes in through the main entrance, walks briskly past the dark, empty gift shop and the cafeteria that still smells of cheap pizza and Chinese food. The bored, sleepy security guard barely glances at him as he goes to the stairwell down.

He pretends this is a mission, so he can stay focused. So he won't break down. So he won't take the gun he has hidden at his back and turn it on himself. This is fact-finding; that's all. He needs to know what happened.

Vanya waits, hiding in the nearby laundry room while two employees bitch and moan about how difficult their life is while they push a supply cart to the service elevator. He sneaks out quietly after the elevator rises and he hears no other sound.

Rumlow said Illya's bo—he said that Hydra kept Illya at the back of the storage room. It's cavernous like a warehouse. It'd be easy to get lost in here, Vanya thinks, if you didn't keep track of where you were going. He's careful to keep track.

He follows the maze of metal shelves to the farthest end of the room. It's easy to find the alcove because of the shelf that's been pushed askew, and then of course the crossed police tape making an X over the large hole in the wall.

Vanya stops dead. The alcove beyond the hole is just large enough that the flickering fluorescent lights can't illuminate all of it, but Vanya has always had excellent night vision. He can clearly see the battered wooden table, empty now of the box of IRP rations he knows would have been there when Illya was awakened. If he'd been awakened. He can also see the space where the cylinder used to be, which now holds nothing but a smudged, dusty circle and the broken pipes and wires that once connected to it.

Vanya tries not to wonder who removed the cryo chamber, and what might have been in it when they did. Did they take the chamber with Illya still inside? Did he die while they were moving him? Was he aware—

_No. No. No. Stop._

He stands with his knuckles jammed in his mouth, biting until he tastes blood and the pain can ground him. This is a mission, that's all. Just another mission. He's here to find out what happened, not to think. That's not what he was made for.

Better. That's better. He can breathe.

Vanya sucks the oozing blood off his knuckles and wipes his hand on his pants, then wipes the tears out of his eyes. He wants to leave and never come back here. He can forget what he saw and pretend Illya is still alive. He goes closer instead. He won't—he _can't_ —leave until he knows what happened.

Afterwards, he'll find his brother's body wherever it's been taken. He'll make sure he's buried honorably. It's the one, last gift he can give him.

But there's dried blood on the floor.

Vanya stops again, this time in confusion. That makes no sense. If he'd suffocated in the chamber-become-tomb, why would he have bled? Did…did they shoot him? But why would they have executed their best Summer Soldier? And if they'd killed him, if Illya was truly dead, why would he have left bloody footprints on the floor?

Because, yes, that's what they are. Now that Vanya's seen them it's impossible to mistake them for anything else. And there's no way they could belong to anyone except Illya, either. How many times has Vanya teased his little brother about his ridiculous bear paw feet?

There's blood here too, at the height where a very tall man would put his hands. And this close, it's obvious that the wall was broken from the inside.

Illya didn't die in the cryo chamber. He was bleeding, but he walked out of the alcove on his own. He was hurt and bloody, but alive.

He's alive. Vanya's brother is alive.

Vanya grips the edge of the hole, his forehead resting on the dusty concrete while his ragged breaths turn his lungs inside-out in relief so deep he aches with it. Either Rumlow was lying, or he didn't know. Vanya's sure he didn't know; that Rumlow just assumed Illya couldn't have survived. Hydra always underestimated them.

Vanya should not have. He knows his brother better than anyone. He feels ashamed to have believed Rumlow so easily. Then again, obedience to the handler was forged in their flesh and bone, and that included treating everything they said as truth.

Vanya left his last handler weeping in fear and pain. He has no handlers anymore. He doesn't have to believe anyone.

But he still has a brother. All he has to do is find him.

Vanya has no idea where to rebegin his search, but he doesn't mind. Illya's alive, and free in the world, and Vanya knows his brother better than anyone. As long as he doesn't lose himself, Vanya's sure he can find him.

 _As long as he doesn't lose himself._ That's the only thing that scares him: that he'll start slipping and won't stop. That he'll forget who and where and when he is. That he'll forget Illya (and _Steve_ ), and everything that helps him imagine he might be real.

He can't do that. He _won't._ He'll force himself to stay well and sane until he finds Illya.

All he needs is to know his brother is safe. After that, Vanya doesn't care what happens.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'm not going to promise that the next story will be happier. _I_ think it'll be happier, but my definition of 'happy' doesn't always coincide with ~~reality~~ anyone else's. 
> 
> [My Tumblr is genuinely happy most of the time, though!](http://taste-is-sweet.tumblr.com/) And if you like alternate universes (and who doesn't?), [check this Tumblr out. :D](https://whatifau.tumblr.com/About%20Us)


End file.
